


On Top of the World

by soongtypeprincess



Series: Married Coppers [19]
Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Best Friends, Breakfast, Domestic Bliss, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Sleepovers, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 19:59:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16226270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soongtypeprincess/pseuds/soongtypeprincess
Summary: “We rarely have these moments, you know? Just the two of us, no distractions, no rushing about in the morning to be where we need to be. You know...enjoying the company.”





	On Top of the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/gifts).



> I am horrible at summaries, I'm so sorry.
> 
> The first bit of this is based on a Tumblr prompt by Dana: "things you said when we were on top of the world"
> 
> Doesn't exactly match, but there you go.
> 
> You see Beckie in this one again (my fic "Rumor" is referenced in this one, where they first meet her).

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Sam greeted Gene in a chipper voice. 

“Good morning, you happy-arsed twat,” his husband responded, squinting his eyes from the bright light of the kitchen. “What’s all the bloody racket down here?”

Sam smiled and placed the griddle pan on the cooker before approaching him. He pulled Gene closer by the sash of his dressing gown and kissed his neck, just under his jaw. “What do I usually do on a Sunday morning...Ducky?”

Gene sighed. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, tracing his lips against Gene’s cheek. “You don’t like that one, eh? I won’t do it again, Muffin.”

“Sam, I’m going to--”

“Yes, Sweetums?”

Gene wrapped his arm around Sam’s waist and squeezed him against his body. “Look here, Pumpkin,” he growled. “Two can play at that game.”

“Ugh, I hate Pumpkin,” Sam scoffed. “That’s a low blow.”

“Is it really...Sammy-Cakes?”

“Yes, ‘tis rather, Gene Bean.”

Gene groaned, but a hint of a smile etched on his face. “Button your lip, Buttercup.”

Sam grinned and pressed the tip of his nose against Gene’s. “Button it for me, Dumpling.”

They moaned softly as their lips pressed together. Sam brought his hands to his face, and Gene sighed again when Sam’s thumbs stroked the apples of his cheeks. 

Sam pulled away and looked into Gene’s sleepy, blue eyes. “Coffee, dear?” he asked.

Gene’s smile was obvious now as he gazed at his husband. He giggled and looked away, biting his bottom lip.

Sam smiled, too. “What is it?”

Gene shrugged and looked at him again. “I don’t know,” he replied. “This is...this is rather nice.” He brought a hand to Sam’s face and stroked his bearded chin with his thumb. “We rarely have these moments, you know? Just the two of us, no distractions, no rushing about in the morning to be where we need to be. You know...enjoying the company.”

He paused and noticed Sam was still smiling at him. “It’s moments like this,” he continued, “when I feel...I don’t know...peaceful? My happiest. I can’t remember ever feeling that...until we made a family. Sometimes I look at you and Ruthie and I feel as if I could burst into a million pieces with the feeling, yeah?”

“Like you’re on top of the world,” Sam said, his dark eyes shining. “I know what you mean. I feel the same way when I spot that gold band on your finger. And then I look at mine...sometimes it’s too much to take in…” His voice began to crack, but he cleared his throat and leaned into Gene’s palm that was still stroking his chin. 

“Nine years next month, you know?” Gene said.

“That right?” Sam asked. “Wow…”

“Yeah, I know. I can’t believe you’re still here either.”

Sam huffed. “Love…”

Gene kissed his forehead and they held each other for a moment longer. 

“We’re getting old, Sammy,” Gene said to him. “We’ve become a couple of sentimental dafties.”

Sam laughed. “Who’s old? I know you don’t mean me, too.”

“You’re an old, crying git, and you know it.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “And you’re the epitome of youthful splendor, Guv.”

“Aw, you’re too kind, Fruit Salad.”

Sam pushed himself off of him, Gene making one more playful stroke at his goatee. He went to the coffee pot and poured some into a mug that was next to it. He handed it to Gene, kissing his cheek. “Get out.”

Gene pursed his lips. “Well, that’s the last time I get all lovey-dovey with you, you bastard.”

“I’m about to make pancakes and I don’t need you in here.”

“You let Ruthie in the kitchen when you cook,” Gene protested.

“Because Ruthie  _ helps _ in the kitchen, unlike you, who likes to be in the way and criticize my methods.”

“ _ Methods _ ,” Gene repeated him. “Pardon me, Julia Child.” He took a sip of his black coffee. “It’s still a bit early, though. Let the girls sleep in.”

Sam poured himself another coffee and leaned against the cabinet across from Gene, taking a slow sip. “I can’t believe they ate all that pizza and ice cream. I was almost sick last night.”

“They’re kids, love,” Gene said, “they’re eating machines. Also, it was a sleepover, and they had fun.”

“I just hate that she has to go home.”

Gene smirked. “Yeah...I know. But we can’t do much right now, can we?”

“Did you see her hand, Gene?”

“Sam.”

He sighed and sipped his coffee again. “There’s abuse in that house, Guv. We’ve got to get Beckie and her brother out.”

“What should we do, then, Sammy?” Gene asked. “Take her home and slap cuffs on her mum and dad. ‘Mornin’, Missus. Here’s your child back. By the way, you’re nicked because my DI has a  _ hunch _ .’”

“She said it was from a fall, but when I helped her change her bandage last night before supper, it looked like...it looked like a burn.”

Gene’s eyebrows raised. “A burn?”

They heard soft thumping on the stairs and took another drink of coffee. Soon, two sleepy eleven-year-old girls with messy hair and scrunched faces entered the kitchen. They were dressed in their pajamas, Ruthie in her matching blue and white Manchester City long sleeve shirt and cotton pants and Beckie in her green plaid pants and a white t-shirt with a bearded man wearing sunglasses and a leather jacket.

“Good morning, ladies,” Sam greeted them with a smile. “Sleep well?”

Before they could respond, Gene motioned to Beckie. “Who’s that dirty old man on your shirt?” he asked her.

The girls giggled and they, along with Sam, answered in unison, “George Michael!”

“Who?”

“He’s a singer,” Ruthie told him.

“Since when?”

“He’s been around, Guv,” Sam said, getting a mixing bowl from one of the cupboards. 

“He was in Wham!” Beckie said.

Gene nearly choked on his coffee. “He was in what?”

“No, darling, Wham!” Sam corrected him. 

“Dram?”

“Wham!” they all said, laughing.

Gene shook his head. “These singers nowadays. When I was a kid--”

“Here we go. See what you started, girls?” Sam teased. 

“When I was a kid,” Gene started again, “we had class acts. Ella Fitzgerald, and oh blimey, Vera Lynn. Then there was The Platters and of course, the Chairman of the Board.”

“Dean Martin?” Sam asked with a sly grin.

“Frank Sinatra, you old fool!” Gene exclaimed, making the girls giggle. “Are you making breakfast or what?”

“Only if you slice up these strawberries for me.”

“Can I cook the bacon so you don’t burn it?”

“When have I ever--?”

“Oh, look at the time, girls,” Gene interrupted. “Your programme’s about to start.”

Ruthie never missed  _ Chucklevision _ , and it became a quick favorite of Beckie’s. She never watched much television since her parents were always watching their programmes and never ones that she and her little brother asked to watch. Television time was never Beckie’s favorite pastime at home.

Ruthie’s house was different. This was her third time sleeping over, and Ruthie’s dads usually let them watch whatever they wanted, within reason. According to Sam, so long as it wasn’t anything violent or too scary, then they had free reign of the remote control. This time, however, Gene brought home three large pizzas and the girls feasted until their bellies were full, but not too full for ice cream. Afterwards, Ruthie and Beckie went up to her room to play.

Sam later walked in to find the mattress propped up against the window, and the girls were behind it, looking around the edges at him. 

“Dad!” Ruthie shouted. “You’re compromising the mission!”

Sam realized they were pretending to be either coppers or secret agents so he just nodded and closed her door. He came back two hours later to tell them to brush their teeth only to find them asleep on the floor, an unfinished game of Cluedo between them. Gene helped him put the mattress back on the bed frame, and then they put the girls to bed, leaving the door open a bit for the hallway light.

There was soon a stack of blueberry pancakes next to a bowl to sliced strawberries and greasy bacon, perfectly cooked according to Gene, even though Sam’s bacon was always top notch, but Gene would never tell him. He always enjoyed taking the piss out of his husband every chance he got.

It never bothered Sam; he was used to it, and if Gene never did it, he would know something was wrong. Although, he would often indulge in his own smugness as he watched Gene go back to the kitchen to put more bacon on his plate.

That was a traditional Sunday breakfast, along with Sam’s series of Mickey Mouse pancakes. 

He would attempt to make only one with the small bit of pancake batter that remained in the mixing bowl. Gene and Ruthie would watch him as he concentrated, Sam’s tongue peeking out of the corner of his mouth, using a big spoon to scoop up the batter and a small spoon to scrape the batter from the big spoon onto the griddle. 

Sam was usually a bit tense during this moment as Gene would try to distract him somehow, and then poor Mickey Mouse would end up having a deformed ear or a cleft chin. 

Gene called these Minger Mouse.

This morning, however, Sam was determined to make a perfect Mickey. A class Mickey. A Mickey that would make Walt Disney proud!

But, also this morning, he had a larger audience. Gene was watching over his shoulder while the girls were on his other side, Beckie on Ruthie’s old stool and Ruthie in one of the dining room chairs she brought into the kitchen.

There was silence and it seemed that all four of them were holding their breath as Sam scraped a big spoonful of batter onto the griddle. The batter made a perfect, circular pancake and they all sighed. The girls giggled but ceased when Sam scooped out more batter to craft the left ear. 

The first ear was always tricky as you never knew how much batter to use. Too much on one ear would leave very little for the other, then you’d have a Minger in the works. On the other hand, if you didn’t rush yourself or be greedy with the batter, then you’d have an immaculate Mickey in the end.

Sam repeated these rules to himself every Sunday morning.

First ear was down, and Sam saw that he had just enough batter to make the second. He took a breath and scooped the last of it, lined up his sight with the other ear to give the new one balance, then tilted the spoon and slowly scraped it with the smaller one. It was forming another perfect circle and Sam grinned in triumph.

Gene then turned and sneezed loudly, startling Sam and the girls so much that they let out yelps of shock. 

“Oh, Lordy,” Gene said, patting his chest. “Sorry, loves. Must be some flour in me nose.”

“Bloody hell, Guv!” Sam said, tossing the spoons in the mixing bowl.

“What, I can’t sneeze in me own kitchen?”

Ruthie and Beckie were now on the floor, laughing as they held their stomachs. Sam pursed his lips and motioned to the griddle pan for Gene to observe the damage.

Gene glanced at it and grimaced upon poor Mickey Mouse, his right ear completely smeared across the top corner of the pan and a long dent across the face that looked a bit like a spoon handle.

“Oooh,” Gene said, “that’s a right Minger, innit?”

Sam rolled his eyes but couldn’t keep the grin a secret. He eventually began laugh and shake his head. “Jesus…” he muttered. “All right, girls, make your plates. I’ll get the syrup.”

Ruthie and Beckie stood up from the floor and took a plate each from the counter. 

“Mr. Tyler,” Beckie said.

“Call me Sam, love,” he responded, still smiling.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, “Sam...do you have lemon juice?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” he replied. “That’s how I like my pancakes, too.” He handed her a plastic lemon juice bottle and watched them build their plates. 

He reached for a plate but drew back when he felt Gene’s arm snake around his waist from behind him.

Gene’s lips kissed the nape of his neck. “Still on top of the world, Cupcake?”

Sam sighed and patted Gene’s hand that was resting on his stomach. He grinned as he squeezed it and reached for a plate again. 

He tossed the Minger Mouse pancake onto it and turned to Gene. Pushing the plate to him, he said, “This one’s yours.”

\---------------

Ruthie and Beckie sat quietly in the back seat of the Quattro. Gene would occasionally glance in the rearview mirror at them to find that they were holding hands.

Taking Beckie back home was the hardest part for all of them. Gene also shared in Sam’s hunch about her home life, having first witnessed a hint of it when they left the grocers last year. Sam had confronted her father after he shoved her into a parked car as he scolded her.

There was protocol, however, and as much as Gene wished to break it, the Super would be on his arse. Charges for wrongful accusations could be brought up against the station and then Ruthie may never see Beckie again.

On the other hand, Gene wondered just how much danger Beckie was really in, and he didn’t admit it, but yes, he  _ had _ seen Beckie’s wound on her hand. He had seen a mark like that before; it was the same cigarette burn that used to mark his own skin, a gift from his father.

He could see Ruthie’s grip on that bandaged hand. There was no doubt that Ruthie knew what was going on with her friend, as they were close mates, but he also assumed that if Beckie had told Ruthie anything, she swore her to secrecy. 

The girls sighed as the Audi came to a halt.

“We’re here, love,” Gene said, turning off the engine. “I’ll get your bag.”

The girls quietly got out of the car as Gene opened the boot. Ruthie ran around to Beckie’s side and they hugged each other. Gene noticed the grip his daughter had on her friend, and he cursed himself for having to break it up.

Ruthie pulled away and looked at Beckie. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow?” she asked.

Beckie, whose eyes were cast at the ground, nodded and walked away with Gene to her door. 

A woman answered the door with an exaggerated smile on her face. She threw her arms around Beckie and said, “You’re home! Did you have a good time, love?”

Beckie barely nodded and hid her face from her mother. The woman looked at Gene and smirked. “She was well behaved, then?”

“Of course,” he replied. “She always is. We love having her.” Gene put his hands in his black coat. “Can I ask what you do, Mrs. Thompson?”

The woman was taken aback a bit, but she drew a cigarette from her jumper pocket and lit it. She exhaled smoke away from the open door. “I’m a secretary.”

“And your husband?”

“He’s...well, he’s between jobs. Hard times, you know?”

Gene glanced at the bruise on her shin. “Yeah, I do.”

Mrs. Thompson looked away as she took another drag of her cigarette. “Thank Mr. Hunt for letting you stay over again, Beckie-girl.”

Beckie did not hesitate to spring forward and hug Gene’s waist. “Thank you, Mr. Hunt,” she whispered.

Gene knelt down and hugged her tighter. “You come over anytime, alright?” He held her in front of him and said, “And that means  _ anytime _ .” 

Beckie managed a grin and nodded. 

“Oh, and,” Gene whispered, leaning closer, “Sam wrapped up some pizza for you to share with your brother. It’s in your bag.”

She smiled bigger now. “Thank you.”

He gave her the small purple duffle bag and she rushed into the house, her mother not taking her eyes off Gene. 

He returned her glare for a moment before bringing his car keys out of his pocket. “Take care, ma’am.”

Gene was pulling into their garage when he heard Ruthie crying in the back. “Baby,” he sighed. He turned and looked at her. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t like her house,” Ruthie said.

Gene sighed as he turned off the engine. “I don’t either, but she lives there."

“Can she stay longer next time? I know her parents won’t care.”

“We can’t do that, Mouse.” Ruthie began to sob and Gene got out of the driver’s side and got into the backseat with her.

Ruthie moved closer to him and he put his arm around her as she cried against his chest. He kissed the top of her head and held her hand until she calmed down.

Ruthie immediately went to her room when they entered the house, stopping only to catch a quick hug from Sam.

Gene shut the front door and, without taking off his coat, brought Sam to him and squeezed him in a tight embrace. Sam squeezed back.

“We still can’t do anything?” Sam whispered to him.

Gene kissed his cheek. “Not yet.” 


End file.
